Pokémon: Adventure of Grant
by NoviceNanty
Summary: A teenager named Grant heads to Camphrier Town to get supplies for his fathers Pokémon Daycare. While staying at a friends house for the night, he encounters a mysterious figure that warns him of a marauder before blacking out. Soon, he will be thrust involuntarily into his Pokémon Journey, something he put off for 4 years, to save his father, and potentially, the region of Kalos.


Late in a cold and windy fall afternoon, a teenager and his Growlithe were walking along Route 7 towards Camphrier Town.

"Do you think this'll be enough?" asked the teen while holding a stack of Pokédollars. His Growlithe looked up at him with a large, goofy smiled across his snout and nodded. "That's what I thought," the teen chuckled as he put the money into his pocket with one hand and ruffled the fur atop the Growlithe's head with the other. The two continued their long walk in silence, observing the beautiful environment around them. The bright red of the fallen leaves that were scattered across the ground, the yellow and orange of the trees, and the soft vanilla color of the dead grass. The rustling of the cold breeze swooping through the foliage was accompanied by the soft sound of a river flowing over stone and the crunch of gravel underneath the pairs feet.

It was a long way to Camphrier Town by foot, and the teen knew that. He would've taken his bicycle, but one of the Pokémon that his father was taking care of had mauled the front tire off. It was both the teen and the Pokémon's fault. The teen had left it unattended and the Pokémon had not been taught much of what was right and what was wrong. The Pokémon was young, though. Younger than the teen and his Growlithe. He was only 16 years-old, and his Growlithe was 6 years younger than him. The teen got his Growlithe at the age of 12. The Growlithe had not been properly trained by his last trainer, who had given up on him the minute he had laid his eyes upon another Pokémon besides the Growlithe. The teen was supposed to be a Pokémon trainer, but since his father was the only parent figure in his life due to his mother losing her way while on an expedition through unexplored forestland beyond the borders of Kalos and was never seen again, the teen remained as a helper at his father's Pokémon Daycare on Route 7. He's seen more Pokémon at the daycare than he thought that he would've seen exploring Kalos as a trainer, so he had a clear mind that he need not adventure out into the world, and nor did his father.

The sun began to disappear over the horizon as the teen and his Growlithe crossed the small wooden bridge that was built of the river to allow travel to Camphrier Town. "We'd better hurry up," said the teen with a nervous look on his face, "I don't wanna get caught up here at night with all the Ghost Pokémon roaming the area." His Growlithe had lost the smile and adopted the same look as the teen. He didn't want to encounter one of those fiends either, apparently. The teen sped up the pace at which he was walking, and the Growlithe did the same. The calm rustling had now become an ominous sound during the dark that had just consumed the land. The river was no longer within hearing distance, either. Thoughts began to run wild through the head of the teen. His fear of the dark had arisen within him. His heart rate increased gradually as the speed of which he walked and thoughts of fear increased. Soon, he was sprinting towards Camphrier Town. He could see the bright glow of the lamps above its stone archway entrance. Two guards stood with sword and shield at hand on either side of the road.

"Quickly, Grant!" yelled one of the guards, "we must close the gates at once! Hurry!" The teen, Grant, couldn't feel his legs he was running so fast. _Crunch-crunch-crunch-crunch _went the gravel beneath his feet. As he came closer and closer, the guards began to wave their arms wildly, beckoning him into the safety of the the towns walls. As soon as he was within grabbing distance, the guard on the right side of the road yanked him by the collar of his two-tone black and white button up shirt and threw him a good few feet passed the gate and into the town. He flew through the air and landed on his back with a yelp and rolled onto his back. He breathed heavily and stared up into the night sky with blurry vision. He had barely enough life in him to hear the gothic gates slam shut and to feel the friendly lick of his Growlithe upon his face. Within an instant everything was black.

"Grant," said a gravelly voice. "Grant," said the voice again, louder this time. "Grant, you lil' ruffian, wake up!" yelled the voice, which was followed up with an awaking slap to Grant's head, "Your damn Pokermon do-hickey is actin' up!" The teen grunted to the sudden awakening and shot up off of the couch on which he was laying and sprung to his feet to meet the gaze of Old Man Gern, the owner of the Pokémon Center in Camphrier Town. The scrawny, white-haired and rough-bearded geriatric stared back with one eye half closed and the other wide open with a clear blaze behind it's green color. He was so made that he was shaking. "Git in the back right there and calm your Devil of a Pokermon 'fore he tears down my whole center!" said Gern while whacking Grant's head, which was covered with a white skullcap, and pointing towards the back of his center, behind the front counter, with one swift movement of his walking cane. Grant nearly fell to his knees as he winced and grabbed his head. "Alright! Alright!," he said in his husky voice, "Just stop with the whole 'Whack-A-Digglet' routine!" The final crack of the cane landed against his back. Grant screeched as Gern managed to push out enough air out of his lungs to yell, "Not until you calm your Pokermon down, you brat!" Within an instant, the cacophonous sounds of glass shattering and the Growlithe's barking were visualized as Grant ran to the back of the center. What he saw was utter chaos. The little beast was flailing about, kicking and barking the whole time as if he were on some sort of sugar rush, which was rightfully assumed since there was an empty bag of new _Rocket Rush __Battle Candy _on top of the Growlithe's head. The candy was released to Pokémon trainers a few months ago as a speed booster for their Pokémon during battle.

"Bruno!" Grant commanded, "sit!"

The beast ignored him.

"Sit!"

The rampage continued.

"BRUNOOOO!"

Suddenly, the Growlithe stopped, turned towards its master, and plopped its rear onto the floor. Grant reached down and pulled the empty Rocket Rush bag off of Bruno's head to reveal that it was covered with little red shards of the candy. Now that the loud cacophony had stopped, the murmurs of a large crowd of townsfolk that had gathered in the lobby during the chaos had arisen. Grant picked up the small and happy Pokémon and walked out into the lobby. "You little rat! Mom'll kill us when we get ho-" Grant's scolding whispers were cut short when he noticed the gaze of the whole town was upon him. His cheeks changed red and his face grew hot as he sheepishly stared at the crowd with Bruno in hand, whom of which was too busy panting away happily while being too hyped up on Rocket Rush to focus. The whole room was silent. Time seemed to slow for Grant as he began to think of all the condescending stares that were upon him. Some were confused looks, others were sleepy or angered looks. Only one was happy. A big dopey smile stretched across the blonde-haired Donny Manson, whom of which was known as Grant's best friend. He always wore a black beanie that left some of his spiky hair exposed with a red hoodie and fingerless gloves with some sort of long pants and skate shoes. Grant could see that he was trying to hold back his laughter behind his brown eyes. Sweat ran down his forehead as his eyes darted between all of the men, women, boys, and girls who stood before him. Finally, Gern crept up to Grant with a piercing gaze and grumbled "Leave my store. I'll send yer mum the charges along with the box o' supplies that ya asked fer..."

The crowd parted into two as Grant slowly walked out of the center and into the lamp-lit cobblestone streets of Camphrier. He didn't look back as he heard the loud laughter of Donny in the center. As soon as he heard his laughter, Grant sprinted down the empty streets towards the west wall of the town, farthest from the center. The town was small, with only five or six small house and a large castle surrounded by a moat. The walls of the town had been extended since the legendary hero of Kalos beat the Elite Four about twenty years before Grant's birth due to the sudden flood of tourists from other regions. Since his birth, though, the region has had less and less tourists each year. Now, Kalos was a small region population wise.

Grant slowly approached the dark wall and sat down into the damp grass beneath it and put Bruno onto the ground beside him. The Growlithe had fallen asleep during the run to the wall. Grant sat there in his despair, thinking of all the eyes that were upon him moments ago. He'd never been a social person, and feeling those eyes staring at him in silence was horrible for him. He stared at his Growlithe and began to speak quietly to himself. "It's not your fault," he sighed while ruffling the fur on the curled up Pokémon's head, "you weren't trained properly, and that's my fault. I guess I should've become a trainer, just like my father told me to... But, that's an option that's long gone, ain't it?" The Growlithe breathed a heavy and long sigh as he slept peacefully in the grass. Grant just stared at the creature while rubbing its head.

"Oh, man!" pierced a voice that sounded like one of those cliche "surfer dudes" at the beach, "you should've seen your face!" Donny appeared from the shadows, chuckling the whole way towards Grant. "Shut up!" commanded Grant as he rose to his feet and scowled at Donny, "stop laughing at me!"

"Ah, you know I'm just kiddin' man," replied Donny, while putting his hand on Grant shoulder.

"Well, it didn't sound like it back there..." Grant turned away from him.

"Look," Donny said while avoiding his gaze, "I'm sorry. It was funny, man, and I shouldn't have laughed. You looked like you need a place to sleep for the night. Follow me to my house. Here, I'll carry Bruno." Donny bent down and picked up Bruno. He arose to meet the gaze of Grant who thanked Donny for inviting him for the night. Along the way through the cold streets, they talked about previous adventures and mishaps. This took Grant's mind off of the incident and off of his mind and soothed his mind.

"Welp," said Donny while staring up at his small, two-story- brown-roofed house, "here she is. Let's get inside. It's freakin' freezin' out here!" He pushed the door open with his shoulder and walked into the living room, followed by Grant. Donny led the boy through the small and rustic living room that was illuminated by the soft light of the fireplace and up into the upstairs hallway. He proceeded to push the door of his room open, revealing a small, blue carpeted room with old, empty water bottles, chip bags, and clothes sprawled across the floor. An old and unkempt bed lay on the far wall with a large window above it. A small lamp stood on a small nightstand next to the bed. The dark room was illuminated by the grey fuzz of TV that stood on top of a dresser that was missing a few drawers. Next to it was an open closet that was wide open and filled to the brim with useless junk.

"Sorry about the mess, dude," Donny said, laying Bruno down on a pile of somewhat clean clothing on the floor. Grant gave a look of disgust as he viewed the dump. "Geez, how do you live in this?" Grant asked. "Ya get used to it," Donny shrugged.

"Where am I going to sleep, exactly?" Grant walked around the room.

"Over there," Donny pointed at a bean bag at the foot of his bed while grabbing a remote off of the floor. he then proceeded to roll onto his bed and turned the channel on the TV from a dead one to some sort of late-night comedy channel. He lowered to volume and grumbled, "good night" and fell asleep. Grant lay on that bean bag for half an hour, sleepily listening to Donny's snores and the soft voices of comedians on the TV. Right as he dozed off into a deep slumber, he saw a slender figure that wore a dress inspecting the side of the room farthest from him. Something large protruded from it's slender chest. That night he dreamt of the figure, pondering what it was and what it wanted

He watched for what seemed like hours until finally feeling tired enough to fall into a deep slumber. As he was about to doze off, he noticed a shadow lurking through the room. It resembled a feminine figure, whom of which wore a dress. Something seemed to be protruding from the front and back of her torso. It roamed the room, as if searching for something. It walked as if it was looking at something near Grant. He could only watch in paralyzed fear as it paced back and forth on the opposite side of the room.

_It's just the sleep gettin' to you, Grant, _he told himself, _you're hallucinating. There's nothing there. Just close your eyes and go to sleep. _After telling himself that, he tried to close his eyes, but something about the figure kept him awake and staring at it. He thought the figure was just a simple hallucination when, suddenly, the whites of its eyes, which were once melded into the shadow of the figure, began to glow purple. Grant held his breath and slowly rolled over on the bean bag trying to make it look like he was moving in his sleep. He was terrified of what he had just seen. Ghost? Ghoul? His mind raced to guess what the unknown being was.

Slowly but surely, a sound began to arise from the creature. It was unintelligible. Very slowly, it became clear what the sound was. It was was a whisper. Grant, now quivering and praying for any god that may hear, was almost in tears when the whisper became clear.

"Shh, child," it said, "Shh. Save your energy, for a marauder is coming for thee. Shh, child." The whisper became louder and louder until it sounded like the figure that made it was right behind Grant. Grant's breath began to quiver as he felt something light and cold flow over his cheek, down his chin, and finally hover above his neck. He could see that it was an arm. He let out a little whimper before the cold hand of the unknown gripped his neck tightly. Not a single sound came from his mouth. He couldn't breathe. He tried to struggle, but some force, possibly magical, refused to let him move. His eyes darted in panic as he tried to see through his flowing tears. Not much could make this sixteen year old break down so emotionally, but this... This could make the bravest of Rangers shutter. He could hear the light breathing of the figure as he slowly slipped unconscious. Finally, he was out.


End file.
